


In My Head I Paint a Picture

by thelonelyislander



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Mushy, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Past Infidelity (from a Past Relationship), Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonelyislander/pseuds/thelonelyislander
Summary: “What’s the sexiest name?” Amy asked.“Valerie,” Jake replied.“That was fast. Do you… know a Valerie?”“Huh, no. I wish.”[Amy learns the truth about Valerie.]





	In My Head I Paint a Picture

**Author's Note:**

> We saw Jake's insecurities in _The Puzzle Master (5x15)_ , and I thought it would be interesting to explore Amy's.
> 
> The idea for this story came about after rewatching _The Venue (5x6)_ , where Jake and Amy created 'Valerie' to catfish the Vulture. BUT 'Valerie' had been mentioned elsewhere in the show, _i.e._ , in Jake’s Mafia song in _Undercover (2x1)_ , an episode we love to rewatch because of gems like “Not good enough” and “I just don't want to hold anything back.” As it turns out, Jake _did_ know a Valerie. 
> 
> Title from the song _Valerie_ by The Zutons.

Amy shuffled through the thick Friday stack of documents in her in-tray which necessitated her coming in almost an hour early. She had only been Sergeant for a few weeks and she was still getting used to the constant stream of paperwork for review, only slightly missing the days when she herself had to churn out reports for her superiors' sign-off.

An exaggerated cough broke her concentration, and she looked up curiously to see Charles standing in front of her desk, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey, Charles. What brings you down here?"

"I wanted to show this to Jake first, but I was so excited and I couldn't wait for him to get in," he said animatedly, handing her an opened copy of the New York Daily News.

Amy’s jaw dropped upon seeing a print of a candid photograph of her and Jake smiling at each other during one of the squad’s morning briefings. Below it read:  

 

> **Jacob Peralta and Amelia Santiago**
> 
> Detective Jacob “Jake” Peralta, 37, and Sergeant Amelia “Amy” Santiago, 34, both of the 99th Precinct of the New York Police Department, first met eight years ago at the same precinct where they became partners, initially as mere colleagues, and eventually as inseparable lovers. As predicted by Detective Charles “Chuck” Boyle (Best Man and the Best Friend of Detective Peralta) at the very moment that the two destined individuals laid eyes on each other, wedding bells would surely ring for them.
> 
> Detective Peralta may be familiar to some as the hero of one of the largest RICO busts in US history, which resulted from his undercover stint in the Mafia, and as the subject of the critically-acclaimed podcast _Detective Peralta: A God in Shackles_ , which aired while he was serving time in prison as an innocent man. During his incarceration, Detective Peralta planned an elaborate surprise proposal for Sergeant Santiago which he flawlessly executed on October 31st at the precinct’s annual Halloween Heist. Just as Detective Boyle (Best Man and the Best Friend of Detective Peralta) was the first to witness the fateful first encounter between America's Dream Couple, he was also the first to receive the news of their betrothal and to offer his congratulations.
> 
> The much-awaited wedding ceremony will take place at five o’clock on May 15th at the Fergus Gallagher Community Center, Staten Island, New York.

Amy stood up quivering and stared in horror at the announcement, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack. She dialed Jake's number and barked, "GET. HERE. NOW." when he picked up.

“Charles, what have you done? Where did you even get this photo?” Amy hissed.

“I chose from over a hundred of those, Amy. Pretty sure that’s the best one,” Charles replied proudly.

“Why do you have over a hundred stolen photos of us? And you didn’t tell us you were planning on putting out an engagement announcement!”

“Whoa whoa whoa, what’s happening here, Sarge?” Jake said, setting his bag on Amy's chair. "I thought we said no more hookups at work?" he joked, winking at Amy.

“Charles put a stupid engagement announcement in the paper,” Amy huffed, holding the newspaper out to Jake.

“Oh my god!” Jake said, eyes wide.

“I know!” Amy exclaimed, still fuming and struggling to control her breathing.

“Your name is _Amelia_?”

“Jake! You need to focus! We’re not some attention-seeking society couple. The wedding is supposed to be an intimate friends-and-family-only event.”

“Okay, take it easy, Ames,” Jake said, stepping forward and placing his hands on Amy’s arms. “Just breathe, babe. It’s still over four months away. I’m sure this'll be forgotten by then.”

Amy nodded and forced herself to inhale and exhale steadily as Jake gazed straight into her eyes with an assuring expression. He always, _always_ knew how to calm her down.

“Guess I should cancel the weekly reprints, then," Charles mumbled, earning sharp glares from both Amy and Jake.

* * *

The following Thursday, Amy began to fully get the rhythm of her work flow, managing to clear her backlog before clocking out at seven or eight on the average. Being Amy Santiago, though, she still came in an hour early for good measure. Besides, Jake had been on a three-day stakeout with Terry since the day before, and there was no one to tug Amy back under the covers to tempt her with sleep (among other things).

The floor was still quiet when she arrived, which wasn't surprising since only Gary Jennings reported to work aggressively early (besides Amy, that is). The first thing she noticed when she got to her desk was a small document envelope labeled "Sergeant Amelia Santiago, 99th Precinct, NYPD." Amy rolled her eyes, seeing that whoever had sent it obviously read the announcement in the paper.

Setting her purse down, she reached for a magnifying glass and inspected the envelope suspiciously. It must have arrived overnight. It was too small and thin to contain an explosive device, and there appeared to be no traces of powder along the seams. Slowly, she opened the flap with her letter opener, and she slid its contents onto her desk.

There was a wallet-sized partial photograph of a naked woman lying across a man's bare chest. Amy flipped it over. At the back, someone had scrawled the words, **_Tell Jake Peralta, Valerie can't wait to see him again_** **.**

Amy's heart raced as she tried to recall where she had heard that name recently. Then she remembered: the teenage girl they'd invented to catfish the Vulture.

_“What’s the sexiest name?” Amy asked._

_“Valerie,” Jake replied._

_“That was fast. Do you... know a Valerie?”_

_“Huh, no. I wish.”_

Amy squinted at the photograph through her magnifying glass. It appeared to have been taken by the naked woman who gazed straight into the camera. Her face was fully visible, but the photo only reached the man's chin. Amy froze. To the ordinary person, the man would not have been identifiable, but Amy would recognise that cleft chin anywhere. Her gaze roamed over the man's chest, and sure enough, she saw the familiar light dusting of hair that greeted her almost every morning.

Her attention flicked back to the woman, who, despite the small size of the photograph, seemed very attractive. She had olive skin, dark hair, striking blue-gray eyes, thick lashes, and full lips. Amy had never seen this woman before, but in a way she looked familiar; she had the type of beauty featured in magazines.

Amy began to feel lightheaded, not noticing that her breathing had turned erratic for the past five minutes. She stuffed the photograph back into the envelope, which she then tucked into her purse. She sat down and rested her head in her palms, sensing hot tears form in the corners of her eyes as she struggled to breathe.

She was having another panic attack with no Jake to comfort her, and worse, he was now somehow part of her stressor. She tried to picture her happy place – the library – but she and Jake had marked the sixth month of their relationship at a library (and she'd been so blown away by his surprise that she didn't have the heart to tell him that there was no such thing as a 'six-month _anniversary_ '). Right now, the memory of the night they'd spent there only exacerbated her anxiety.

"Sergeant Santiago? Are you okay?" a worried-sounding Gary asked.

"Just – need to breathe –"

"Should I call someone? Detective Peralta?"

"No!" she practically yelled, making Gary jump a little.

"Stakeout," she explained, running out of air. "Could you – E.R.?" she gasped.

"Of course, of course," Gary stammered, reaching for her elbow to help her up.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Gary had handed Amy a paper bag to breathe into, and she was too concerned about getting enough oxygen into her lungs and fighting the tightness in her chest to inquire about its origins. For all of Gary's seeming meekness, he was able to drag Amy out of the car and and past the doors of the emergency room, where she was promptly seated on a wheelchair.

A nurse took Amy’s blood pressure and checked her heart rate. Her medical history was taken and reviewed, and she was given a tablet (probably Xanax, she thought) to drink, and gradually, she began to calm down. She asked if she could head back, but the doctor saw in her file that it had been her third time to be sent to the hospital for similar attacks, and he wanted to run some blood tests to make sure that there was no other underlying cause.

"Officer Jennings, thank you for staying with me, but you'd better head back to the precinct. I'll take a cab from here," she told Gary.

"If you're sure, Sarge," the young officer responded tentatively.

"I am. And I'd appreciate it if you keep this between us."

Gary nodded and gave a salute before leaving. Amy messaged Captain Holt that she was having stomach problems and wouldn't be able to report back to work.

She watched a nurse extract a blood sample from her right arm and stick a cotton ball over the puncture with a strip of medical tape. When the nurse closed the curtain of the ward behind her, Amy was left alone with her thoughts.

She wasn't a stranger to infidelity. Back in her junior year in college, she dated a Literature major named Rex Balsom for eight months until he confessed that he'd slept with a sophomore he met at a poetry open mic night. At first, Amy was furious, and filled with vindictiveness, she entreated Kylie to accompany her in spying on the paramour.

Then Amy discovered that it was Gigi Morasco, a well-liked student and an active member of a dozen organisations while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. Plus she looked like Keira Knightley in Scarlett Johansson's body. Suddenly it just made sense that even a nice guy like Rex would sacrifice their relationship to have a chance with someone like that. Though usually hyper-competitive, Amy pathetically accepted defeat. 

She never considered herself as Jake's type. He'd dated several women, and from the few of them that Amy had encountered, they were definitely eye-catching (or ‘hot’, by Jake’s terminology), and by his standards, they all seemed fun and exciting. Even his fictional speedboat model ex-girlfriend fit that mould.

Amy, on the other hand, was 'lame' (a word Jake often used in the early days of their partnership) and controlling (a word Jake used to describe her until now), had an anachronistic style of dressing (and decorating), and was thought to be a prude so much that Jake openly teased her about her intimate life (hence the sex tape jokes).

Imagine her surprise when Jake revealed that he had feelings for her. Sure, they’d managed to get along as partners after some rough patches in the beginning, but she never considered the possibility that Jake would actually be interested in her romantically. Sometimes she still wondered how he’d gotten attracted to her in the first place.

It was high noon by the time the results of the bloodwork came back and Amy was allowed to leave. On the ride back to the apartment, she fiddled with her engagement ring and hoped the cab driver wouldn't notice her wiping tears in the backseat. She was somewhat thankful that Jake wouldn't be home until the next day; at least she would have time to sort things out and maybe write a speech before confronting Jake, if it came to that.

She let herself inside the apartment and placed her purse on the counter. Pulling her blouse off, she walked towards the bedroom in her tank top and pants, lost in thought.

"Ames! You're home early."

Amy dropped her blouse onto the carpet in shock. Jake stood by the bathroom door, drying his hair off with a towel, clad in boxers and a gray shirt.

"Jake! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the stakeout?" Amy said breathlessly.

“Yeah, but we got all the photos we needed, and we really wanted to go home and take a decent bath. The shower at the stakeout place was busted," Jake explained as he hung the towel behind the bathroom door. "The power was kind of wonky, too, so I wasn’t able to charge my phone. Sorry I didn't get to text you."

“Oh, that sounds awful – but also great, ‘cause now you’re home, and I’m glad you are 'cause I was totally expecting you to be here…” Amy rambled.

“Have you been crying?” Jake took a step towards her, his face etched with concern. “And what’s that on your arm?”

Amy's brain short-circuited as she realised that she had forgotten to remove the cotton ball from her arm. “Oh, this? It’s – it’s from the blood drive.”

“The blood drive isn’t until next week. You put it in my calendar,” Jake said slowly. “Babe, what’s going on?”

Amy blinked and picked her blouse off of the carpet. “I just came from the hospital. Panic attack,” she said haltingly, refusing to look at him.

“What? Ames, what happened? Are you okay?” Jake put his hands on Amy’s shoulders and tried to meet her gaze, but she still purposely avoided his eyes.

“It’s stupid, Jake. It’s nothing,” she said shakily, forcing a smile.

“Okay, two things that do not go together are 'Amy' and 'stupid',” said Jake. “Come on, I’ll fix you some tea, and we can talk about it.”

Jake led her gently out to the kitchen, arm around her waist.

As she watched him switch the kettle on and reach for her favourite peppermint tea in the cupboard, she bit her lip and thought, this was _Jake_.

This was her loving, caring, thoughtful husband-to-be, who was willing to get demoted if it meant that they could stay together. Who risked so much in prison to keep a phone and hear her voice. Who put up with her condescending parents because he wanted to marry her. Who took the trouble to find the perfect final case that they would work on as partner-detectives. Who envied her celebrity crush and worried that he wasn’t smart enough for her. Who supported all her goals and dreams to the point of making them his own.

And who could never, ever be unfaithful to her.

She felt silly now for having reacted the way she did and for letting her emotions get the better of her. Good thing she hadn't had the chance to write that speech.

“So,” said Jake, placing a steaming mug in front of her, “Ready to talk about it? ‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Amy took a deep breath. “I received an envelope this morning. It had a photo.”

Jakes eyebrows furrowed. “Of what?”

“You should probably see for yourself,” Amy said. “It’s in my purse.”

Amy stared into the mug, watching the smoke rise from the amber-coloured tea, not quite ready to see Jake's reaction to the contents of the envelope. She heard him open the purse and pull the photograph out. A moment later, he placed it back inside the envelope and walked around the counter to stand beside her. He swiveled her stool slightly so she was facing him.

“Ames,” Jake began with a tremor in his voice, “Those were taken back when I was undercover. Freddy Maliardi probably sent it to hurt you, to break us up and get back at me. Please, you have to believe me. I would never –”

“I know,” Amy said softly, reaching for Jake’s hand. “You are many things – a little messy, chronically tardy, and sometimes childish, but you would never be a cheater. I know you would never let yourself turn into your dad.”

Jake swallowed hard, his jaw visibly clenching. Amy continued, “I may have overreacted. I know you, and I trust you completely. It's just… the ‘Valerie’ thing, y’know... You suggested it as a name for a hot girl, and you said didn’t know a Valerie, but maybe you do. And this… It's happened to me before, a long time ago, but all the doubts came flooding back like it was just yesterday.”

“I'm sorry if I ever gave you reason to doubt me,” Jake said, looking her straight in the eye. “But I'd really forgotten about her. I had to make a song to remember who was sleeping with who –”

“Whom,” Amy corrected.

“Whom,” Jake said, nodding slightly, “But now I recall she was one of Freddy Maliardi’s mistresses, and I went drinking with her one night to try to get information on him. I don’t remember what happened afterwards at all – just the hangover, and it was _real bad_. Honestly I think I just took my shirt off and passed out before we even reached second base.”

Amy cringed. “I don’t need to know everything, Jake. I wasn’t doubting you. I was doubting myself.”

Jake looked at her questioningly.

“When it happened before, he’d found someone... _better_. Like, she was everything I was and could do, plus more. My brain just immediately went to how I was never your type; I was never flirty or adventurous or hot like other girls you dated.”

“Ames,” Jake said, grinning now, “You’ve got it backwards.”

Amy tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You were always my type. It just took me forever to realise that.” Jake stepped forward and planted kisses on her hands. “And if you still think I don’t find you hot after seeing how horny you make me during sexytimes and otherwise, I must not be doing my job well enough.”

Amy laughed for the first time that horrible day. It was the kind of uninhibited laugh that Jake alone could elicit from her, one which made the remnants of her anxiety melt and fade into oblivion. She only stopped when Jake kissed her forehead, and she looked up to gaze into his eyes.

“I love you, Jake Peralta,” she murmured.

“And I love you, Amy Santiago. There is no one else. There will never be anyone else. There can't be anyone 'better' because you are the _best_ thing that's ever happened to me. I wish could tell you how much I mean all that, but you know I’m not good with words,” Jake said quietly. “I can show you, if you like.”

He stared at her fiercely and intently, a look that Amy recognised from when they’d first said ‘I love you’ to each other.

Amy smiled. “I would like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you go, my first canon-compliant and established relationship (non-get together) fic! As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> (The OCs' names are from One Life to Live. Cheers, Melissa/Adriana!)
> 
> P. S. I had fun writing that engagement announcement. How'd you find it?


End file.
